Since 2008 the Russian military force has occupied the territory of South Ossetia, proclaiming itself a peacekeeper between South Ossetia and Georgia.  While only four countries (Russia, Nauru, Venezuela, Nicaragua) in the world recognize South Ossetia’s independency,  Georgian citizens still have no access to this territory. Furthermore, the occupation line, represented by the barbed wire, green banners and ground lines is expanding towards Georgia, cutting villages in half and taking over local people’s fields and farming facilities. Georgians refuse to abandon their homes at the occupation line, so they carry on working on the land under the daily risk of being abducted to the other side. 

A sea of orderly lines of red-roofed, ocher-painted cottages, Tserovani is a stark reminder of Georgia’s open wound of South Ossetia, the Russian-backed breakaway region against which Tbilisi fought two bloody conflicts in the early 1990s and in 2008. Until the summer of 2008, a vast, grassy plain stretched between the highway connecting Georgia’s capital, Tbilisi, with the city of Gori and the hills of the Dusheti region. As the August conflict unfolded that year, thousands of people fled South Ossetia, heading across the administrative line into Georgian-controlled territory. They carried with them few items; among them, stacks of photos and bags of memories. International donors reached to their coffers and, within a few months, the settlement was built to provide the Internally Displaced Persons (IDPs) with a house and an option to rebuild their lives.

A jar of yogurt represents home; an ancient, chipped ceramic pot symbolizes humanity; a traditional frame drum evokes passion; an old, smelly sweater brings to mind carefree childhood summers.

During the rough-and-tumble decade of the 1990s following the breakup of the USSR, the community migrated en masse to Greece, seeking work in their forefathers’ homeland where they were offered citizenship. Slowly, yet steadily, villages became emptier and quieter. The 2014 census sets the number of ethnic Greeks living in Georgia at 5,544, the majority of whom - 2,113 individuals - are scattered across villages in Kvemo Kartli.  

How do we talk about the impact of mainstream masculine culture on men? More precisely, do we ever talk about the men who try to create their own versions of masculinity -- however controversial that may be at times? What happens when your style, voice, body language, relationships and, in general, way of life does not match society’s traditional definition of masculine?

On October 5, Tbilisi Mayor Kakha Kaladze presented a new plan for the old hippodrome in central Tbilisi.

Chaos. It is the first and only word that comes to mind when one arrives at the central train station in Warsaw, Poland.

How do we talk about the impact of mainstream masculine culture on men? More precisely, do we ever talk about the men who try to create their own versions of masculinity - however controversial that may be at times?

While waves of construction booms have fundamentally changed the skylines of Georgia’s two largest cities—capital Tbilisi and seaside resort Batumi—the ancient town of Kutaisi had been largely untouched. Until now.